Blood Rain
by Hota
Summary: Excerpt for lack of summary: These are the worst nightmares, because when I awaken, they slip through my fingers like so many droplets of blood, gone before I really have a grasp on them. - One shot, complete, Yuki POV


**AN**: Thanks to DC for the title. And this is dedicated to Ruli. Because I said so and I can. :D Aaand this is what I end up writing when I am pissed off and annoyed and depressed with people, and I just realised while writing how much I have missed my Eiri muse --huggles him-- Enjoy and please review  
**Posted: Dec. 14, 2004**

**Blood Rain**

Staring out at the rain has always been a morbid pastime of mine. The sight of the sky's tears, crashing down from the heavens, instills in me a sense of belonging; the soft _pitter-patter_ of the timeless raindrops striking against the contours of the earth pulling from me emotions of longing. Longing for what, I haven't the slightest clue.

Pushing myself up from my chair, I amble over to the window, crossing my arms over my chest as I lean a shoulder against the wall. Through the double-paned glass, the sky hovers, overcast, dark clouds hanging low and foreboding over the city while the people below rush to get home where it's warm. By the frantic motions of the trees I can see a rather strong wind has picked up, and briefly my mind flits to the safety of the singer who has made himself quite at home here. He disappeared earlier to get more of that damned pocky he enjoys so much, so he should be back any time now.

The thickening rain pulls my attention back to the fit of nature raging outside, and I can't help but think the blurry vision is somewhat similar to me. The changes I've gone through have melded me into... something. Sometimes I hardly feel like I know who I am anymore. My memories are blurred, and the dreams I have occasionally only further enhance the feeling that I'm not quite whole. Images from I-don't-know-when overshadowed with something close to joy...

These are the worst nightmares, because when I awaken, they slip through my fingers like so many droplets of blood, gone before I really have a grasp on them. They taunt me with the residue of emotion they leave behind, the half-memories dredged up from somewhere within my splintered soul giving me a forbidden taste of what I must have once had at some point.

Joy, happiness, comfort, peace... The definitions of these words I know quite clearly, but for having actually experienced them, I cannot recall a time when I have. Hence the reason for those qualities being conveniently absent from my works; it's hard enough writing about things you do know, let alone what you don't...

I'm constantly asked what it is I want and I never know what to say, because asking for happiness is both unreal and impossible to give, the same as my memories. So I constantly reply with "Nothing" in hopes they'll leave me alone, which I quickly learned is also a fanciful wish, along with silence and an unlimited supply of beer.

The door slamming pulls me from my quickly sarcastic-turning thoughts and an ear-shattering "Yuuuuuuukiiiiiiiiii!" echoes around the apartment, loud enough to make me wince even though I'm over twenty feet away. I say nothing, continuing to stare out at the storm since the twerp knows where to find me. Sure enough, not one minute later I see his reflection prancing through my office door as if he owns the place.

"Yuki! It was horrible, the store was out of pocky so I had to go five blocks further to get some from the other store and it started _raining_ on me on the way back!"

It never ceases to amaze me how much he can say in one breath, though I shouldn't be surprised since singers usually have good lungs. I feel him shift beside me and worm his way under one of my arms before gluing himself to my side with a content sigh, and I have to admit – to myself – I find his presence rather comforting when he's not running at the mouth.

After a while I actually notice that he _isn't_ running at the mouth and glance down in mild concern, wondering if he has a fever or something. I find violet eyes staring up at me from a head nestled against my shoulder and I pause, studying him silently. And I suddenly realise what it is about this one Shindou Shuichi that strikes within me a chord of discomfort, a sensation of discord that fissures all the way to my core, fading to a being with my soul and memories: The feeling I get when his presence is near me, as if a weight has been lifted from my chest and a blanket of stillness has been wrapped around me, is one that is distantly familiar.

I find myself drowning in those indigo orbs and a hand rises to his cheek without my consent, brushing my fingertips against the smooth skin in a feather-light touch. This feeling... it alarms me, frightens me that I could be feeling something so intensely after years of working to close myself off. And it terrifies me more to know that I _want_ it; even though I could break him, even though I could destroy him as easily as I killed.

"I want you." The words rise within me and escape my lips on a breath of a whisper before I am consciously aware of it. His wide eyes get impossibly larger, and I don't care if he understands the full meaning of my words or not as I close the distance between us. His lips are supple and firm against mine, and I can faintly taste the strawberry from the pocky he no doubt devoured before he was five feet out of the store.

Pressing him back into the wall, I make quick work of our clothes before slowing down to savour him. My fingers and lips caress his heated skin, his body arching against me with delighted shivers, his voice reaching my ears in pleading moans as the passion and desire rise between and around us, urging us to quicken our pace as we reach that primitive point of ecstasy where two people meld into one being, sharing breaths and souls as their hearts beat in harmony.

The ability to put a romantic spin on sex comes in quite handy as an author.

After a while I realise he's gazing up at me from our place on the floor, and I wonder briefly when we ended up here before his slim fingers in my hair pull my attention back to him.

"Shower... before we catch a cold," I mutter, noting the slight draft wafting around us when he shivers.

He grins at me as he pushes himself up. "Does that mean we're showering together?" he asks happily, taking my soft snort as an affirmative before dragging us both to our feet and into the bathroom.

I watch as he turns on the water to let it heat up, humming under his breath as he does so. And when my arms slip around his waist, and he immediately leans into my chest, I can't stop that discomfort from rising within me. The amount of trust he puts in me, weather blindly or intentionally, is enough to put me on edge. I don't deserve his trust or ill-placed devotion, not with the blood staining my hands and the scars marring my soul.

But I have realised lately that I am extremely selfish. If he hadn't already started his career in the music industry when we met, I think I would have been likely to lock him up and keep him to myself, away from prying eyes and clinging fingers.

So as long as he stays here... I will never let him go.


End file.
